Connection
by Loveforthestory
Summary: After Aaron collapses and is rushed to the small hospital in the heart of Willoughby, all that Charlie can do is wait for news in an empty desolate hallway. She is alone with her thoughts and is almost drowning in fear for more loss until the sound of heavy boots, his boots, fill the hallway behind her.
1. Chapter 1

**Dear fabulous Lemon, this is my present for you. Happy birthday, I wish you love, happiness, health and wonderful stories ! Love from Love**

* * *

Connection

Chapter 1.

Bass walks into the only bar in Willoughby where they serve decent whiskey. After a long afternoon with a meeting from hell with Frank fucking Blanchard his fingers ache for a glass of whiskey. He is tired and feels like hell.

Frank knows what he is doing now Texas is trying to get back on its feet after the war. Bass knows that. But hell, he is not sure how many times he can listen to Blanchard who has to remind him _he_ is in charge of half the continent now _his_ Republic has gone to hell.

Frustration has build up in the muscles of his shoulders with every hour he had to sit in Frank's office while his bored mind had been busy plotting Frank's future death.

Bass moves his hand over his face. When he orders his first drink, he notices some stuff is happening around a table close to one of the windows. People are talking in hushed voices.

He sits down to Joe Mathews. Joe acknowledges him with a quick nod, a glass of whiskey already in his hands. He is one of the few people that is willing to talk to him now Bass has rented an apartment in Willoughby.

'What's that all about?' Bass gestures to the small crowd in the corner of the bar with his glass in his hand.

Joe takes another sip of his drink. 'You haven't heard?'

'Heard what?' Bass growls. He lets the whiskey swirl in his glass before he puts it back to his lips.

'Aaron Pittman was having dinner here with the Matheson girl half an hour ago. He collapsed. Just like that after his second drink. Had to take him to see the old doc across town.'

Bass feels something shift inside of him when Joe mentions her name.

'How's he doing?' It is not the first question he wants to ask. The first question swirls around her, _around Charlotte_ , in his mind. But he can't ask. He can't give that part of himself away.

'Not sure. It did not look good.' Joe says, looking from Bass to his drink.

'Charlie with him?' Bass takes another sip of his whiskey, her name casually rolling of his lips. But saying her name is just as powerful as the whiskey in his glass.

'Yeah, she would not leave his side. She was pretty upset.'

Joe's words are like a punch to his chest. Bass has to swallow something away. Something that should not be there. 'She alone?'

'Guess so, his wife is staying with some family and Rachel and Miles are out of town for the next couple of days.'

It is all Bass needs to know. He finishes his whiskey. He lets it burn in the back of his throat in the same way Joe's words, _and her name_ , burn inside his chest when he slams his glass back onto the bar. He pays for his drink before he walks out of the bar with a focussed blue in his eyes.

* * *

He finds her with eyes filled with worry while she is pacing through the hall of the small, _and only_ , hospital Willoughby has.

The sounds of his boots hitting the floor of the empty hallway yanks his mind back to memories of Independence hall and long lonely nights in Philly after Miles had left their city, the Republic, _him_. Hours where whiskey, reports and echoes of who he used to be had kept him company, unable to get any sleep.

He feels the weight of that ambushing memory as tension around his chest, making it harder for him to breathe. He pushes the memory out when he walks to her.

He senses the exact moment she knows he is here. He can see it in the small shift in her shoulders, in the way she looks up with an almost surprised depth in her eyes.

'Heard about stay puft. How's he doing?' His tone is filled with gruffness. He curses at himself for sounding like such an asshole when she is looking so damn upset.

Charlie looks up to meet his eyes that are a mixture of rude steel and deeper blue. She knows she should be pissed at the stay puft insult. But all she knows is that this hospital hallway does not feel as desolated as it did now he is standing in it.

'They don't know...Grandpa is with him now...'

He doesn't know what messes with his head more, seeing her like this or the fact that she is willing to answer his question.

Their eyes lock, and somehow it reminds him of that afternoon in an abandoned school. Where it had been them in the middle of their lives pretty much going to hell. But she had looked at him. Really looked at him. And hell, she is doing that now. There is too much in her eyes. There are new things in her look. Too much for him to look away. He should. But he can't.

The sound of footsteps behind her yanks her away from him as she breaks their eye contact first. Her heartbeat feels more heavy and fast at the same time when Gene walks over to her and Monroe.

'He is stable, for now. I think he has pneumonia. That ugly cough has been bothering him for weeks. He has a fever and he needs fluids. I will do everything I can all right?'

Charlie's heart rebels against those last words. It is not what she wanted to hear.

 _He is going to be fine. It is nothing._ She longs to hear those words. Not this. But she had seen the way Aaron had looked before he collapsed when he had gotten up from his chair to order them another drink. His eyes behind his glasses had been unfocused and he had looked pale. She had rushed over to his side and yelled for help when she had stayed with Aaron until they had moved him to the hospital room he is sleeping in right now.

Maggie taught her enough to know that without the medicine the world had before the blackout, things are not looking good and that the options to treat Aaron at this point are limited. She feels panic rise inside her belly. She should have played more attention. She should not have believed Aaron when he told her it had been just a cold. She feels pissed at herself. And more panic swirling in her stomach.

But this is Aaron. He is family. So she takes a deep breath and stays strong. For him.

Bass looks at her. She is trying to push back all the emotions he can see in her eyes. With a strong stubborn sigh, she straightens her shoulders. But he knows her. He feels the shift inside of her. She looks small. The blue in her eyes now so god damn pale.

Behind her strength and hidden behind the fighter in her he can see a wave of defeat that almost brings him through his knees.

'There is nothing you can do now Charlie..' Gene tries. 'All we can do is wait...'

'I am staying.' Charlie says, her eyes hollow but her voice firm. She knows where this is going. But she is not going anywhere.

'Charlie...'

'I said. I am staying.'

Gene sighs. He ignores Monroe who is standing behind Charlie. He has no idea what he is doing here. But he is tired. He has four patients and a devastated granddaughter standing in a hospital hallway in front of him.

'At least sit down and try to get some rest all right?' Gene tries. When he is sure she will at least do that, he turns and walks back to check on Aaron again.

Charlie sits down on one of the chairs on her left. Bass is not even sure she wants him here but hell, after everything they have been through? If she's staying. He is.

The sound of his boots echo in the dark of an empty hallway. He sits down next to her. Close enough for his leather jacket to touch the sleeve of hers. She can't look up. But she can't deny what it does to her that he is here, with her, tonight.

It has been like that from the start somehow. She has found something in him she refuses to look at. It is complicated. Hard. Impossible. And yet it is there. It irritates her, it angers her.

But worrying about Aaron gives her no space in her heart to be pissed at Monroe. She has no energy to push that something, _him_ , away although she is not even sure she wants to push him away. So she sits in a silent hospital hallway. Thinking of Aaron. Waiting for news. And somehow he sits there, with her.

She doesn't want to talk. Bass is not sure he can. He feels fucking pathetic for his mind that is trying to think of something he could say to her. So he keeps his mouth shut as midnight is now far behind them.

He thinks about giving her his leather jacket. But then Gene moves from one room to another one at the end of the hallway. Both men exchange a look. There is bitter kind of hate in Gene's eyes. Bass wants to give her the damn jacket. But he can't.

But he won't leave her. He knows it is fucked up and a whole lot of other things his mind refuses to think about, but that is somehow what they do. Charlotte. Him. They never leave the other behind, no matter what hell they are going through.

* * *

Bass has no fucking clue what time it is. All he knows is that his body is hurting like hell from sitting on a stupid plastic chair for hours. He shifts his weight slowly. He hears the change in her breathing next to him.

And then, when he finally has enough courage to look at her, he watches how her eyes are closed and her long eyelashes rest on her cheeks. She is slowly finding him in her sleep.

'Dammit,' his low curse fills the space around them when her hair brushes the sleeve of his leather jacket. Her temple is close to his arm now. And he knows he is probably going to pay for this later, but it is too fucking much. Her. Here. So damn close.

He slowly moves his arm over the back of her chair, giving her room to move her head against his chest. His arm moves over her shoulder and then around it. His fingers are moving slowly through her hair.

She mumbles something in her sleep as her hands find his shirt. Her temple is close to his scruff. Her fingers are holding on to the fabric of his shirt and the warmth of her skin is radiating through his damn shirt, finding his chest.

* * *

It is four in the morning. Willoughby is still fast asleep when a familiar voice appears somewhere at the edge of exhausted sleep. When she slowly wakes up, she feels the warmth of leather against her temple and a heavy and assuring arm around her back.

She forces herself to function when she slowly moves away from the wide arm behind her back. Still aware of Monroe so close to her.

Gene is sitting on a chair across from her. She nods, telling him she needs to hear what he will tell her.

'He is still asleep. His fever is high but he is doing a little bit better. The fluids seem to be working. It is up to Aaron now to fight this.'

A relieved sigh moving through her. Followed by the ever strong and present fear that loss will be there soon after relieve.

'Charlie, you need to go home. Get some sleep. It's still winter and I don't want you to get sick as well. I will send someone when something changes.'

Charlie knows he is right. She needs her sleep. She does not want to go, but the rational part of her mind tells her she needs to get some rest to be there for Aaron in the morning again.

'You will send someone.' She tells Gene. She doesn't ask.

When Gene tells her he will, she gets up from her chair.

Gene looks at Monroe who gets up from his chair as well. Charlie is too tired to see the loathing in Gene's eyes when he looks straight at Monroe.

Gene hated finding out that it had been Charlie who asked Rachel to spare his life when all Gene had wanted to do was execute him and bury him with the past.

He hates to see him here and close to her tonight. He hates it even more that she has somehow decided to let him.

'I'll take her home.' Bass steps closer to Charlie. There is a protective roughness in his voice.

He stares at Gene, both men remembering that day right outside Willoughby where Bass had almost ripped Gene apart when he had enough of his, and Rachel's, whining about doing the right thing when they had decided to take _his_ prisoners home.

Gene nods, although there is a threat in his eyes that wakes up enraged irritation in Bass. He has saved the old man more than once and he is getting fucking tired of the whole let's hate Monroe when my daughter is fucking _Miles the butcher of Baltimore Matheson_ routine from Gene.

Bass stares at Gene with steel in his eyes and tension in his jaw line. But then Bass feels Charlie next to him and he feels some of that rage move out of his chest. He reminds himself that she is what matters now. The rest of the world, including Gene, can go to hell right now.

She does not even protest when he gently moves his hand to her lower back when they walk through the doors of the hospital. Darkness still lingers over town. The streets are quiet. He can see a shiver moving through her when she crosses her arms before her chest.

She is so much like Miles. Looking like hell. He knows how far she can push herself. But she is tired. And hell, she is shivering again.

She needs to sleep. He needs to get her someplace warm. She is exhausted, he can sense it in every almost disorientated step she takes as she walks next to him. His apartment is right around the corner. One look at her and he makes a decision.

'Come on...'

His voice filled with hoarseness because of hours of sleep he did not get is reaching her through exhaustion and worry. His hand is back again, guiding her through town when she walks with Bass through the empty nightly streets of Willoughby.

* * *

Charlie knows he is not taking her to her place. She knows she is walking into his apartment. But after being awake for almost twenty four hours she does not care.

Bass looks to his small old and worn couch and he knows she is not going to sleep on that damn thing. He wishes she would turn around and walk to him , close enough to feel her breathing when she tells him he is delusional for suggesting she will take his bed when he offers it to her. He wishes he could yank her chain after that, telling her he is always a gentleman.

But she is quiet, and hell, her being quiet messes with his head, and heart again. Bass nods to his bed. 'You can sleep here, get some rest.'

Too tired to talk, Charlie nods yes before she curls up on top of his blankets. Bass slowly takes of her boots. She does not even protest when he moves a blanket over her slender shoulders. She doesn't care she is still wearing her leather jacket.

She is asleep before he can even readjust it around her body so she can finally get some warmth back into her system. His hand cups her shoulder, his fingers wrapped around her, before he tells himself to step away from her in his bed.

He watches her for a moment before he turns to walk to his couch to grab a couple of hours of sleep himself. But when he reaches the doorway he has to turn one more time. He has to watch her again, Asleep and somehow offering whatever he has offered her tonight.

He leans into the doorway, watching her sleep. All he can think of is that she is there, in his damn apartment with another silent curse that fills his mind. And his fingers crave for a glass of whiskey again, knowing sleep is far away.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Dear Lemon, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter of your birthday present! There will be three more chapters. I will publish the next chapter soon. Happy birthday again! I hope your day is filled with love, birthday cake, and sunshine! Love from Love**


	2. Chapter 2

Connection

Chapter 2.

She is trapped in a place somewhere between being asleep and being awake. The strength of her nightmare pulls her deeper into painful images.

The face in her nightmare mixes with the sound of barking dogs. Her dream forces her to watch how Maggie slips away again. She feels heavy hands around her upper arms. Wide hands, hands belonging to Miles. She knows he is there. But she can't turn around. It does not matter how much she tries, she can only watch Maggie's pale face and her beg her not to go. Maggie doesn't listen. She never does.

When her dream finally let's her go, she is gasping for breath. There is cold sweat on her back. It clings to her skin and to her tank top.

Her soft whimpers wake him up. An almost empty bottle of whiskey in front of him on the table. Bass moves his hand through his messy curls before he gets up from his couch.

His bare feet touch the cool texture of the wooden floor under him. He sits down next to her on his bed. His hand moves with a will on its own to her knee. He wraps his hand around it, his fingers moving around her leg.

'Hey...Charlie...wake up...' His voice is low. Her leg is toned and warm under his touch.

This is not the first time he has to watch how she is fighting a nightmare. He has seen her like this many times before when it had been just the two of them and a damn road. It is the first time he can't stay away. It is the first time he _has_ to be there with her.

Charlie opens her eyes to find wide shoulders close to her. His voice is strange warmth. For one second she thinks she is back on the road again, out there, with him. Hundreds of miles away from Willoughby. She is out of breath and her mind needs some time to realize where she is.

She can see curtains, half closed, in front of a window. The light of the moon is finding its way into the room.

The images of her dream slowly fade as they let her go. There is something warm and comforting wrapped around her knee. Her eyes finds his the moment she realizes it is his hand, his fingers, wrapped around her leg.

Her heavy sleep filled mind makes her remember something. Something happened. There is a reason why she is in his bed. There is a reason why he is here. There is a reason why her body feels like hell.

The room is dark. Her thoughts chaotic. And then all of a sudden, she remembers. _Aaron._

'You all right?'

'Yeah' Charlie nods, wishing her voice did not sound so weak.

'I...' There is a heaviness in his voce that fills her chest with its low vibrations and care, sitting so close to him. He refuses to look at her, 'I know how much he means to you.'

Charlie's eyes are wide when she looks at him with confusion in her eyes. Her heart ambushed by so much honesty coming from Monroe.

When Bass is finally able to look at her he is totally prepared for Matheson blue that is going to pierce straight through him, ready to mock him or tell him to go to hell.

But her eyes are softer now, paler. And she does not even know she is going to share this with him until the moment her heart and mind decide they want to.

Her voice is soft when she speaks again. 'He is the only one who remembers.'

 _Everything._ Her. Her dad. Danny. Maggie. Her fights with Maggie. Her nightmares when her mother had walked away from her, over and over again. That time she had sprained her ankle while she had been hunting. They had all searched for her in the woods behind their small village and it was Aaron who had carried her home, together with her dad. Birthday's. First heartbreaks. Wisconsin. The war. Who she was. Who she loved. How she loved all of them.

Bass lets out a heavy sigh. He gets it. He wants to tell her he fucking does. Miles. Miles is the only one who remembers for him.

All of it. His family, his mom. His dad. His sisters. His home. Pretending they were soldiers in high summer grass in the fields surrounding their home town. Growing up. Their first cigarette. High School. A night on a high way and one phone call from Ben that had changed everything. Those first days of the blackout. Shelly. The first night they had toasted to their Republic.

He fucking gets it. He gets her pain.

Charlie looks at Monroe, feeling his weight next to her on the mattress. Bare feet. Jeans. Simple shirt and messy curls with endless pain in his deep eyes.

Two people and one bed and a lot of silence, but they both know they have found something they can both understand.

He doesn't say anything as he feels the heaviness of the past pressing on both of them in her living room.

'Be right back.' He gets up, without being able to look at her.

Charlie waits. A shiver moves through her body and she pulls the blankets, _his blankets_ , closer to her again.

'You are a Matheson so you probably want this..' There is a glass of whiskey in his hand when he walks back into the room and some easy ego in his voice, but Charlie can hear the honest gesture in his voice, hidden in his full of himself bullshit.

They both ignore the way their fingers touch when he hands her the glass. She nods, he looks at her. She takes a sip from his whiskey, letting it warm and calm her from within. Or maybe it is him, here. With her.

And somehow, Monroe being Monroe at five in the morning in his apartment, gives her more solace than she could have ever imagined.

* * *

Charlie's shoulders are aching from sitting in the same position in the same chair in the same hospital room.

Even with her eyes closed she can see the hospital room around her. She can see the large window on her left, she can see the pale afternoon light streaming into the small quiet room. She can picture the deep wood of the floor and the small nightstand next to Aaron's bed.

She has been sitting next to his bed for the past two days. She has gone home to get some sleep and to change into a new pair of jeans and a new tank. But it has been her and her stubborn refusal to leave his side for hours, day after day.

Since the night Aaron collapsed right in front of her, time has moved into a strange rhythm in a space disconnected from the world out there. The hospital belongs to that rhythm. Worry does too. Fear. Hope. Desperation.

Monroe.

His apartment and him sitting next to her before sunrise in his dark bedroom belongs to time that seems to stretch out in agonizing hours that consist of sitting with Aaron and hoping for good news.

She remembers waking up. She remembers his wide shoulders and deep eyes so close to her. She remembers his gruff voice. She remembers how his heart had been wide open sitting on his bed next to her. Her minds refuses to let her forget. Forget him.

Aaron's fever has been high and although there is some slight improvement, Gene has not been able to tell her the things she wants to hear. So she waits. She sits next to Aaron, who is a piece of her. A part of her past and a of present. She can't imagine a future without him. It is hollow and daunting.

She slowly opens her eyes, her mouth is dry and her neck is soar. But this time, when she opens her eyes, he is not asleep or mumbling something in feverish dreams. He is looking straight at her with a bright gentleness in his eyes that is so much like him.

A smile slowly appears on her face . 'Hey...' her voice is hoarse, as relieve mixes through her voice.

'Hey kiddo...' Aaron tries to smile but when he does he has to cough and there is sweat appearing on his forehead.

'Take it easy Aaron' Charlie reaches for a glass of water on the nightstand. She slowly helps him take a sip.

When he closes his eyes and moves his head back to his pillow with a deep exhausted sigh, she moves her hand over his arm.

'Priscilla will be here tomorrow, we send her a letter. She is on her way now.'

Aaron just nods, too tired to say anything else.

'You'll get some sleep all right?'

His voice is raspy and low but he still manages to get the words out. 'Thank you...'

A grin appears on Charlie's face. 'Hey...you sat next to my bed, after I had that stomach flu.'

She watches how Aaron remembers those long hours. She was fourteen and her dad had been busy getting water into her system. Between the throwing up and feeling miserable Aaron had told her stories about ghost busters.

'I'll be around...' She promises him.

When he shows her a pale smile right before he falls asleep, a smile she never thought she would get to see, something suddenly breaks inside of her.

She thinks of everyone who had never woken up. She thinks of everyone who would never smile at her again. She feels gratitude for Aaron who is doing so much better. But she also remembers them. All of them.

Tears are waiting to explode from within. She gets up from her chair. She walks into the hallway when she tastes the salt of tears in the back of her throat. She doesn't look up when a nurse passes her.

She just knows she can't be here. She ignores the rest of the world. Her brain screams at her to find a way to be alone with a force of relieve and tears that are crushing her from within. She sees a door on her right through her tears.

* * *

Bass has been going through endless reports. It has been a long day and he should get the hell out of his office but he has to make a decision and he is using boring reports as a reason to not make that decision.

He pinches his nose while he leans back in his chair. He could go home. Or he could go see how she's doing. He gets up from his chair and pours himself some whiskey. He walks to his window.

When he came home later that day, that day when she had slept in his bed, his apartment had felt empty without her in it. The glass of whiskey he had given her had been standing silently on the floor next to his bed. He had poured himself another drink before bed and had ignored her scent in his damn blankets when he had tried to get some sleep.

She has been there, swirling in his mind for the past couple of days like the whiskey in the glass he is holding in his hand. She is there now, again, when he stares out of his window. Late afternoon shadows fill his office.

When he finally shuts the door of his office behind him and moves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he knows he has made a decision.

* * *

He walks through the hospital doors with tension in his shoulders. And then, he sees her. There are tears in her eyes when she walks through the hallway, looking miserable. His heart beats loudly in his chest. _Fucking hell_. Panic spreads through his thoughts when he thinks of why those rare tears are there.

He follows her and finds her in a small alley behind the hospital. Her back is turned towards him but her shoulders are shaking with tears and deep sobs.

Charlie is facing a wall and is desperately trying to find some control. She feels relieve. But she also feels a wave of nausea with that wave of relieve. She heaves, trying to swallow back the bitter acid in the back of her throat when tears flow over her cheeks. The palm of her hand rests on the cool wall next to her to keep her on her feet.

The sound of a door opening and closing behind her reach her. He hasn't spoken yet but she would recognise the sound of his boots everywhere. She can't turn. She can't face him. Not like this.

Bass closes the distance between him and Charlie. He can't ask what he wants to ask her. He can't ask her if there is even more fucking loss in her world. He reaches out for her. The palm of his hand are making soothing circles on her back. He swallows as the sound of her sobs are so fucking close.

And before he has the balls to ask her what happened she finally turns. She is crying, but there is bright blue relieve in her eyes.

'He is awake.' Her voice is filled with tears she finally allows herself to feel. Her mouth circles into a small but real smile. She is trembling on her feet. Her hand is still against the wall next to her for support.

He slowly takes another step towards her. Charlie looks up. Her eyes are moving over the fabric of his uniform jacket to wide shoulders and the strong lines of the muscles in his neck. And then, when her eyes travel over his scurf she finds deep blue eyes. She finds comfort in his eyes, hidden in an alley in Willoughby.

Her step towards him is a like a leap into the unknown depth between them. But she takes the step anyway. He stands there, tall and silent, for her.

Her palm finds his wide chest as her silent tears flow from her cheeks into his jacket. Bass has to fight back tears of his own, watching how she slowly melts against his chest. Her hand is still on the wall next to her but then, she finally let's go and gives in to him.

She cries. She breathes. She breathes in his comfort and him. And he finally has enough fucking courage to move both his arms around her and hold her against his chest.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Lemon, I am so happy you enjoyed the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed this second chapter as well. Thank you to everyone for your follows, favourites and reviews. They mean the world to me. I always love to hear about your thoughts. The third chapter will be published soon. Love from Love**


	3. Chapter 3

Connection

Chapter 3.

She walks into Aaron's hospital room with a vase of flowers in her hand.

'More?' Aaron asks, looking up from his book. On his nightstand and the table across his bed are more bouquets with colourful flowers and handwritten cards.

Priscilla has gone home to grab some sleep. She arrived yesterday and had not left Aaron's side until Charlie reassured her she would stay with Aaron until she came back.

'Yeah, I guess you have a lot of friends.' Charlie looks at Aaron with a smile around her full lips, while she puts the vase on the window sill.

His fever is gone and although he is still very weak, at least he is eating again and his cough does not sound as horrible as it did before.

'You look better.' She adds, relieved to see some colour on Aaron's face.

'I feel better, kiddo.'

'Good.' She walks to his bed and then jabs him on the upper arm with her fist.

'That hurts...' Aaron exclaims while he looks at Charlie with a shocked expression on his face. 'Why did you do that?'

'That's for scaring the shit out of me. Don't do that again.' Charlie replies with a strong blue in her eyes and voice.

Aaron rubs the sore spot on his upper arm. Before he can say anything to Charlie they are interrupted.

'Yeah, Mathesons really know how to show they care.' Suddenly, Monroe's low voice fills the room.

When Charlie turns, he is standing there. All of him. All uniform and piercing blue eyes. And she remembers. Every part of her remembers.

 _Her temple is making contact with the rough texture of his scruff. His arms are heavy around her while her system fills with Monroe, the weight of his strong arms around her, the scent of his skin and the solace that is her head against his chest._

 _She is relieved there won't be any more loss today. She is nauseous. She is trembling on her feet. She is somehow in a weird safe place, hidden in this alley and in the space between his chest and his arms._

Bass looks at her with an easy and lazy grin on his face while he enjoys the stern expression on her face. She is crossing her arms before her chest. But _he_ knows _she_ remembers. She can stand there with that stubborn pissed off blue in her eyes and a promise to kill his ass as much as she wants but hell, he can see right through her.

She is trying to shut him out. But she is doing a fucking horrible job. Because he remembers the sensation of her tears against the skin of his damn neck, two days ago.

 _He gives her time while he soaks up the feeling of her slender form against his chest. He feels the curve of her back against the palm of his hands. She is trembling. He can feel her tremble so close to his damn body. He slowly moves his hand to her hair, softly caressing dark blonde hair. With every stroke, he can feel how she is melting more into him._

 _He has no fucking clue why she lets him close or why the hell it does not feel weirder, him and her here after every single thing and battle and impossible days and long dark nights they have been through. But is just them and a damn alley and her letting him close without anyone else there. So he takes it, that one fucking moment that should not be what it is._

As much as Charlie tries to ignore him in the room, she fails. She can feel his eyes going over her face and arms still crossed before her chest as a hot intensity that makes her almost shiver at the same time.

It is not the first time he has checked on Aaron. _On her_ is what she somehow thinks when his eyes are meeting hers. He doesn't talk much. He never stays long. But he is there.

Even now Aaron is doing much better he still walks in after a day filled with meetings or when he allows himself some time away from his desk and reports.

'Feeling better?' He asks Aaron in an almost reluctant tone, his eyes moving from _her_ to Stay Puft.

'Uh..yeah..' Aaron stammers, not being able to keep some sarcasm out of his voice. Surprised Monroe is actually talking to him and that they are actually having something that is close to a conversation.

'Well since you are here, you can make yourself useful.' Charlie tells Monroe.

She feels irritated with that stupid casual grin that will not leave his face and that shows her the small lines around his eyes, while she talks to him.

'Anything for you Charlotte...' He is looking at her again. Really looking. His voice is filled with ego and gruff warmth.

She is not sure if he means it or not. But the way her full name is rolling of his lips is waking up certain parts of her only adds to that irritation.

'I am going to get something to drink. You stay with him.'

'Uhm...Charlie..' Aaron starts, 'Could I talk to you for a minute?'

Charlie rolls her eyes at him. 'No...' And with a big grin on her face she walks out of the room. 'Be right back. You boys behave.'

Bass feels something stir with that casual grin around that gorgeous mouth of hers. It is not the first time she managed to get that reaction from him that makes his pants feel too damn small around his damn cock.

Aaron looks at Charlie who is leaving his room. Which means leaving him alone with one asshole General. He has been here before. He remembers his voice when he had been lost in fever dreams. The silence that takes about one minute feels like one whole year.

Aaron scrapes his throat. Swallows. And then, looks straight at Monroe. 'Thank you.' He watches with some satisfaction when Monroe shifts uneasy from one boot to another.

Bass looks at the wooden floor before him before he can meet his eyes again.

'I know you look out for her. And although I think you are still a giant asshole...thanks for doing that.' Aaron nods.

Bass swallows. 'Sure.' He feels the other man's words burn inside of him and something heavy presses on his chest.

He sounds like he really does not give a shit about what he just told him. But for one moment, Aaron can look further than the uniform, the ego and arrogance and the man of steel blue eyes standing before him. He watches something human in Monroe's eyes.

Hanna, the nurse walks in with fresh water and some fruit. Aaron forgets all about Monroe in his room when she smiles at him. Bass looks at her curves with admiration.

'Brought my favorite patient something to eat. How are you feeling Mr Pitman?' Hanna asks with a firm but not unfriendly voice.

'Much better.' Aaron smiles.

Before Hanna walks out of the room she nods to Bass. 'General.'

Bass nods to her, ignoring the obvious flirtatious look in her eyes. When they are alone again he turns back to Aaron with a wide real grin on his face. 'Well, at least I get it why you are not home yet.'

Aaron has no choice but to grin back. Monroe is still a asshole, but at least he is an asshole that is making an effort.

'Don't tell Priscilla. I love her. But _god_ , she is really scary when you piss her off.'

'No shit.'

At that moment, Charlie walks back into the room with a cup of hot tea in her hands. When she sees both Aaron and Monroe grinning like a couple of idiots she stops. A suspicious look is on her face as she looks from Monroe to Aaron and back to Monroe again.

'Did I miss something? Everything all right over here?'

'Super...' Aaron tells her.

'Just talking about the excellent hospital staff.' Bass watches the absolute adorable look of confusion on Charlie's face. He leans into the desk behind him while Charlie sits next to Aaron on his bed.

She drinks her tea while she listens to Aaron and Monroe actually talking to each other. It feels a bit forced but somehow it is nice to see two men she fought with and lived her life on the road with, together in one room.

She has to bite back a grin with every sip of her tea. When she puts the cup of tea on Aaron's nightstand she hears two familiar voices in the hallway. When she turns her head towards the door, she can see the tension in Bass shoulders and jaws. His expression is harder again. His shoulders more straight.

And then, Miles and her mom walk in. Before Charlie can meet Monroe's eyes, Miles pulls her in for a quick hug. 'Came as fast as we could.' His voice gets lost in her hair. She smiles at him while she takes in the scent of the road and whiskey.

Then, he turns to Aaron. 'We heard this moron got himself in some trouble.'

Rachel looks at Aaron. 'How are you feeling?'

'Good, just super tired of everybody asking me that same question over and over again.' Aaron sighs.

'Well, then you better make sure you get well enough to leave the hospital.' Rachel smiles.

Her mother asks countless questions. Miles is busy trying to figure out if Aaron hid some booze in his room. When she turns around, Bass has left the room.

* * *

It is her and Miles and a bottle in a small kitchen. Her mother has gone to bed. Miles moves his boots onto the kitchen table.

Miles fills her glass for another round. Charlie accepts it with a nod. Even now she has found a place on her own, Miles never lets her leave without a drink. He pretends it is not a big deal and that he doesn't miss her that much and she pretends she does not see how much he cares about those late night moments together.

It reminds her of them on the road, when she had tried to get to know an uncle that had been out of her life for years. Him working for Blanchard and giving it a real try with her mom means she does not get to spend that much time with him alone anymore these days.

Over a bottle of whiskey he starts asking her about the events of the couple of days, from the moment Aaron had collapsed in the bar. Charlie rolls her eyes at Miles because of his interrogation General Matheson mode.

Miles looks at her. 'So, he stayed with you. The whole time?'

There is a sceptical tone in Miles' voice that irritates her. 'Yeah, he did.' Charlie looks at Miles over the bottle of whiskey on the table.

'Miles, I told you before. He saved my life. More than once. Why are you so surprised he was actually there?'

'It's not that. Bass can be a moron but at least I know that moron looks out for you. And Aaron. Although he will never admit that.'

Charlie takes another sip from her drink. 'Then what it is it?'

Miles looks away from her. He can still see Bass, walking out of a tent with the red colour of loss and death on his hands in a camp two years after the blackout. He still can't breathe when he remembers the destructive force of pain on Bass' face.

There is rough pain in Miles' voice when he speaks again. 'Bass...he never deals with this shit very well.'

'Why?'

She watches how her uncle's eyes darken. His fingers are now around the bottle on the table. This is usually the point where he stops talking. But not tonight.

With whiskey to soothe the worst raw edges of pain, he starts talking about things Charlie always wanted to ask about. About the day, months after the blackout where Bass had told him that if he was going to walk all the way to Chicago, he would walk with him. _He sees him, there on his bed. Green shirt, baseball in his hand._

'He just grabbed his crap and came with me.'

Charlie's heart is beating faster. It is dark and quiet in the kitchen. Mile sharing these things about him, about Bass, about the men they were, feels painful and intimate and so very personal.

'The things we saw on the road...death, people killing each other because of food. Rape..' Miles swallows. 'I couldn't watch it anymore, Charlie. We had to do something.'

It is quiet again. Charlie's blue eyes meet Miles' darker eyes.

'We tried to help people the best way we could. We made sure there was food and shelter and more and more people found us and stayed with us. Bass met a woman.'

Charlie looks straight at Miles. The story swirling inside of her, her mind, her heart, her belly.

'He really loved her kid.'

Miles looks away again. Remembering their camp. Bass. Him. _Him and Neville grabbing water and towels the moment Shelly went into labour._ He can't tell her about Neville. He can't hurt her by sharing a memory of a man who destroyed so much for her.

'She died while she give birth. Their daughter as well.'

 _He can't bare the quiet around them. He can sense the cold intense grief radiating from Bass. He has just helped burying Shelly and their kid. Bass' kid. Bass' little girl. They are both standing close to their grave. He watches the shattering raw grief in his brother and he feels so damn helpless, wishing he could do something for his brother. So, he just stands there, next to Bass. The only thing he can do is move a long arm around his brother's shoulders._

Charlie's eyes fill with tears. There is a slight tremble in her breathing while her whole being fills with the what Miles is finally sharing with her. Two brothers. A camp. A woman. A baby girl. A girl Bass would never watch growing up. The afternoon they had to bury them and let them go.

And when she is there with them, she can no longer see Monroe as Monroe. He becomes one of them.

And suddenly and slowly at the same time, she gets it. She gets his steel loyalty and love for Connor. She gets why he would do anything for him. She is slowly realizing why she always feels that combination of shutting everybody out and yet, wanting to be there with all of them to fight their fight from the past few years when it comes to Monroe.

And after that, she realizes Miles has been there before. Standing next to the people he loves, watching how they have to let someone go. Just like he was there when Maggie died. And Danny. She realizes why he never let her close. Why he always had to distance himself from her. She gets it now.

It is pain. Loss. Raw memories that haunt Miles.

Her mind, and heart, are busy processing the images of two men who know loss. Who know how raw and hard life can be.

Miles' eyes are deep and dark and filled with the pale sheen of tears. He meets her eyes as he knows she understands the man who is still his brother better now.

The weight of what he and Bass have gone through _, the loss, the despair, the darkness and who they became, are_ pressing heavy on his shoulders like dark shadows he can never outrun. But what is killing him right there, so close to her, is the compassion and understanding and tears in her eyes.

They are both quiet as they drink. And that one memory is slowly filling his mind again. The memory of the image of Bass walking out of a tent after he had lost them both. His hands and arms filled with blood. Wordless cries. Miles can still see Bass stumble towards him before Bass would collapse in his arms and against his chest. Miles can still feel the weight of Bass body and his despair against him, with rocking shoulders and raw soundless cries.

It is the memory of the day he lost a piece of Bass for good.

She watches the emotions running through Miles. She knows he won't let her close now. So she is still there, with him and for him by being quiet and giving him space.

Time moves from midnight to far after midnight. Finally, Charlie puts her glass on the table as her mind, and heart, have made a decision. When Charlie gets up from her place at the table, Miles doesn't ask any questions.

She walks over to Miles and moves her hand over his shoulder. Her fingers wrapped around his wide shoulder.

'I have to go.'

He can't look at her and just nods. When she walks to the door, he doesn't say a word. They both know where she is going.

* * *

 **Author's Note I rewatched some episodes from season one. And what really intrigues me are the dynamics between Miles and Charlie at the start of that season. I really wanted to find a moment in this story where Miles could share a part of his life with Charlie. Where Charlie would understand Miles, and Bass, better. I think there is room for more understanding because both Bass and Miles have the key for Charlie, for that understanding to grow when they share more of who they were and why they became the men they are now.**

 **Thank you so much for your reviews and follows and favorites, they mean so much to me. I love knowing you are there! Your feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Lemon, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Love from Love**


	4. Chapter 4

Connection

Chapter 4.

She shows up at his place at four in the morning. When he opens his door, she just stands there in the shadows of the night. He can feel her eyes going over his face. He knows he looks like hell. He _feels_ like hell after hours filled with nightmares followed by lonely whiskey on his damn couch. He does not want her to see him like this.

A deep sigh escapes from his chest. He looks at the ground before he can look at her again.

Charlie looks at him when the sound of his heavy breath fills the space between the both of them. He looks tired. Haunted. The lines around his eyes deep. 'Can I come in? '

'Sure...' His voice sounds raw and almost gruff. It matches the raw look on his face. He is not sure why the hell she is here and when he closes the door behind her he is not sure what to do.

One look at the bottle on the table and she knows he has been drinking. She can taste the scent of whiskey that lingers around him and that fills his living room. She knows that look. She knows because this is what Miles looks like after he has been trying to drink his misery away.

He walks past her. His arm brushes hers. Without even asking he walks to the kitchen to get a glass for her. After he fills her glass she takes it from him with a small nod and without any questions.

He keeps his distance from her when she stands near his kitchen table. He walks over to his fireplace. He can sense something in her eyes. Something new. Something different.

'Why are you here?' His raspy voice fills his living room. The blue in her eyes is deep when she looks at him like she has never done before.

He is trying to sound like he does not give a shit. She can hear it in his voice. But she senses it, that he somehow craves to know why she is here. His eyes give him away.

They always do.

She is here to talk about something they had started near a fire 7 miles outside Pottsboro after she had woken up with raindrops falling on her face, thunder in the distance and him close. But everything has changed. Everything is different now.

She had refused to believe he was more than that cold psycho she met in Philly. First, because she had truly believed there was nothing more to find inside of him. But then, after she realized there was more, she had refused to let that new truth in.

And it is more than that dangerous thin line between wanting to kill and fuck him. It is more than him waking up her body, with almost forbidden images of sweat and hard muscles and that scruff of his against her skin. Images of how it would be. Him challenging her body with the echo of how his grunts would sound so close to her ear. Her hidden desire to explore what it would be like.

It's a truth that is more than all of that. More than the raw need and pulsating want and the way he is always able to piss her off and at the same time sensing how she can fight with him and count on him.

She had saved his life. Twice. She fought with him. Almost died with him. He had saved her life. More than once.

He had been there when darkness had been closing in. He had taken care of her. He had been there, with Connor and Miles that first night after Austin. She had not been able to talk about what she had done. But he had been there. And through her guilt she remembers the absence of steel in his eyes. She remembers the worry in his eyes when she had looked up. And there had been honest, real worry. For her.

She knows why she is here. She knows why she had to come here after she talked to Miles. All those times he saved her. All those times she did not understand why she was unable to keep him away from her heart. Or maybe she did. But she just was not ready to admit that to herself.

She knows why she is here. She is here for the truth. To give him something her heart had not been able to give away after every single thing that had happened out there, between him and her. Until now.

Because after tonight, after what Miles told her about his past and Bass' past, after everything her heart told her already, she knows she can't deny him, and her, anymore. It's real. And it is here.

Her eyes finds his. And she is finally ready to talk.

'I ...I always wondered what happened. To Miles...' Her heart tells her there is no going back, not after crossing this line. She is about to give a part of herself away. To him. ' To you.'

She feels vulnerable. It is the same vulnerability she would feel when her back is towards one of her opponents in a fight.

Bass swallows. Her words press heavy on his chest. Her words, and the way she is looking at him, make his heart beat inside his damn chest in a heavy rhythm. He knows she remembers now. Who he was before the blackout. And he fucking knows, she cares. Because she is here, at four in the fucking morning. Her eyes are so open, her honesty so raw.

Charlie sees the struggle in his eyes. It is the same struggle that rages inside of her now. But she refuses to step away from whatever is happening.

'And after the last couple of years..after everything we went through...realizing what all of that did to me? How it changed me? I get it. I get it now Bass.'

It's the first time she tries his name. She knows he has noticed it too. There is a shift in his eyes that turns from distance and distrusting to something that is so human, that it brings the start of tears to his eyes.

'I always thought you were not able to feel anymore. That you were just a cold mask and an empty psycho and that power and killing were the only things that were real to you .' She has to swallow. She takes another breath. 'But you do know life. You do feel...you do know loss.'

Bass feels panic spread inside of him. She is getting way too fucking close. There is honest understanding in her words. He looks at her. And slowly he realizes she somehow knows more about him, about his past. Of who he was and what he became. And he also knows there is only one person who remembers all of it.

 _Miles._

'He told you about my parents...' His voice is almost too low to hear.

She can hear an impossible amount of pain in his words. Charlie softly shakes her head in confusion. 'No...he...'

She is trying to understand what he is trying to tell her while they both look at each other and time is slowly moving through the deep night. She can see the return of steel in his eyes before it spreads to his shoulders.

Bass clenches his jaws. _Shelly._ Miles told her about Shelly. And that means he told Charlie who he was, when he was still able to love and believe in brotherhood. He feels the raw taste of feeling too exposed, in the back of his throat.

Bass turns his back to her. He walks to the window. With one wide hand, he leans into the window frame. 'Can't believe he told you.' There is a bitter accusation in his tone.

'It wasn't like that...' Charlie almost raises her voice, her heart aching with how far away he suddenly feels with her own heart wide open right there in front of him. 'You know Miles would never...'

The bitterness in his voice now turns into cold steel. 'He couldn't keep his mouth shut huh?'

Charlie feels a surge of coldness going through her when she hears the roughness in his words. She feels pissed and hurt and confused and like the ground under her is not really there anymore.

When he looks at her, he can see the flash of hurt on her face. He hates to fucking see it there. He hates knowing he is the one that put it there. He knows she is not here to add more raw hurt to what is left of his damn heart. She somehow came here for the opposite. But she is too close, too close to who he once was.

Charlie looks at him. Forcing herself she won't show him how much hurt his words are causing. Hurt that swells inside of her chest.

A part of her wants to stay. It's the part that tells her he is lashing out because he is hurt. Another part of her finds a final escape to outrun whatever is happening between the both of them in his harsh words and steel eyes.

Her eyes burn like frozen blue hurt when they lock with his. One more breath and she knows which part inside of her wins. She has to go. She can't be here. With him. With all of this between them.

When her boots hit the stairs in the staircase of his apartment building her mouth is dry and her breathing is heavy.

Maybe he calls her name. Maybe his deep voice and her name fill the staircase behind her . Maybe it is the sound of thunder out there. When she walks outside, she is not sure if it's her tears or drops of rain that flow over her cheek.

'Charlotte...dammit...wait.' His voice booms through his apartment, filled with frustration and hating himself for doing this to her. His body feels frozen now his living room is empty. It's too late. And he wants to stop her, but he fucking can't. Rage and old wounds keep him locked in one place.

He feels frustration as cold sharp spikes in his blood. Frustration for the way she was able to really fucking see him. Something he craved for, for so fucking long now. And he ripped it all apart. Rage is next. He wants to break something. Destroy something. Kill something.

The air outside fills with rain and thunder in the distance. And then, there is just one burning need. He just needs her. She is the only thing on his mind when he grabs his leather jacket and leaves his apartment.

* * *

Charlie throws her jacket over one of the kitchen chairs. She feels anger mixed with disappointment when she repeats his words over and over again in her head, remembering the steel in his eyes. She moves tears and rain away from her cheek with the back of her hand.

Willoughby is silent and it is hours before sunrise. Her apartment is dark and cold and feels too empty. There is a deep nightly silence that covers the whole town. But his boots, on the other side of her front door, sound _and fee_ l heavy and wake something up inside of her. When he arrives at her front door he doesn't even knock. But she knows he is there.

'Charlotte..' Her name is an order and plea all in one.

Her heartbeat quickens in a new way. She has no choice but to walk to the door. The sound of thunder rumbles through the air. She gives herself one more second. To breathe. To be. Knowing Sebastian Monroe is right there at the other side of the door. Knowing that when she opens her door, there is no going back.

And the way he just said her name, moves through her core like the thunder rolls through the air outside.

When she opens the door he is with her in a heartbeat. He yanks her close. His hand moves to her lower back in the dark of her living room. She has seen him fight. She knows how strong he. He _is strength._ But the force in his arms and in his eyes are a new strength. A new force. She melts against his chest when his mouth claims hers.

They are a storm of hands needing to claim the other. To touch. To finally give in to something impossible. He can't talk to her, but he has to show her he has heard every single thing she just told him. He can't talk to her but he has to show her he is here.

They kiss. They bite. Drops of rain move from his hair to his neck. She tastes the rain mixed with sweat on his skin. He sucks on her neck and she takes of his leather jacket with a low moan. It's fast and primal and nothing else exists. Just his scent of sweat and leather. Just her taste of fight and loyalty. He moves his fingers through her wet hair.

When he pushes her on her couch and moves between her legs with his pants around his ankles, she can feel his heartbeat through his shirt and his wide hard cock against soft swollen and wet skin after he opened her pants with an ease that comes with years of experience.

With one focussed and in control thrust he takes her. He feels hot satisfaction burn when she lets out a wild moan when he buries himself balls deep inside of her. There is heat in her heartbeat and she is so fucking wet, for him, he has to curse and say her name, over and over again when he feels how hot and wet she is around his damn cock.

She is so willing to let him fuck her that his cock throbs with her and only her. Charlie moves her arms around his neck. Challenging him to fuck her harder while she is pulling him even closer. Between angry thrusts his mouth moves over hers again. Hungry and claiming her, all of her , for him. She needs to taste him all over again. She closes her eyes when she feels his heavy weight on her. _Him._ So much of him.

But then, those angry thrusts slowly change into something else. They become more desperate and when Charlie opens her eyes there is raw pain in his eyes. And it is the first time she sees her own pain in his.

It almost makes her stop him. It almost makes her tell him to slow down. But she can t. Because she _is_ him. He is her.

With every thrust she takes him. His pain. His past. His grunts are almost desperate. Hers are deep. Sweat on her skin, his and hers, mixes with her heartbeat until she comes with a loud cry that echo's somewhere between her full wet lips and his tanned strong neck.

Her release aches in his damn cock and balls and he comes in hot waves of warm sticky white on her smooth flat belly.

He watches her, her eyes and full lips so damn close before he lowers his head, burying it in the dark nook of her neck.

'I'm sorry...' he whispers into her ear in with hoarseness in his voice.

The raw deep honesty in his voice is almost too much. The meaning hidden in them too. She can't speak. So she moves her arms around his shoulders, her fingers brushing the scars on his back. Her fingers slowly stroking his hair.

He can't fucking talk. Her pulling him closer to her damn chest and warm skin is more than he deserves. Dammit, he knows that. But he still pulls her close so it is the both of them, skin against skin, on her couch. Neither of them talks. It's still too fresh, too young, too fragile, whatever they have found in and with each other. Maybe they will never able to truly talk about all of it.

Bass holds her. He feels her heartbeat while he strokes the warm skin of her arm with gentle fingers. And whatever this is. Whatever reason she found to look beyond who he became and what he did. Why the hell he is feeling he can't walk away from her. Why the hell there is something in her eyes now that she somehow only saves for him, he knows it has been already there.

Hidden in every fight she fought with him.

Hidden in every time she stayed when she could have walked away.

Hidden in every time she saved his life.

In every time he just had to save hers.

In every battle and on every fucking impossible day.

In every time their eyes locked and every moment they fought as one.

It had already been there.

And she knows. One look at her in his arms tonight and Bass knows she knows. He pours everything he can't say to her and everything that is there between them in one long never ending bruising kiss.

She allows herself to get lost in his kiss while he picks her up and holds her, her thighs around his middle. It's deep and strong and hungry and gentle. She senses it, the depth of his kiss. What's hidden in that kiss. Something new, something they somehow know so well. Because it is him. And her. And it's deep and strong. Vulnerable and honest.

She opens her mouth while he walks the both of them to her bed, moving her tongue around his and letting his hot breath warm her from within. He fucks her a second time, fast, deep and almost desperate.

There are no words. She takes off his shirt and he opens her bra, craving to taste her breasts. They just lock their eyes when he fills her again. After she comes and he finds release deep inside of her, he kisses her one more time. His mouth leaves hers before he moves away from her. He sits there, on the edge of her bed. Tall shoulders in the first soft early morning light.

She slowly moves to him. She sits behind him, his back against her soft full breasts. She presses a kiss on his shoulder, the fullness of her lips touching of the scars that will always be there.

He knows he should get the hell out of here. He wants to go before she asks him to go. Fuck, sitting her on her damn bed is slowly killing him.

'Stay...' Her voice is softer than he has ever heard but it is filled with strong determination that is so her.

She is not sure what he is going to say. For one daunting moment she is afraid this was just a fuck for him. She knows she wants him here, with her, before everything out there is there again. Here where it is just him and her. She has wanted him right by her side for a very long time now. But this is the first time she has enough courage to ask him.

Bass almost breaks when her words echo in his damn head. _Stay._ And he can't remember how long it has been. It feels like another life when someone wanted him to stay.

Charlie can feel him tense up against her. And for one second filled with one long heartbeat filled with loss and desperation and scars, she thinks he is going to get up and walk away from her bed, and from her.

He is not sure what he should do. But all of a sudden he knows what he wants to do. It's her honesty and warm skin and soft curves against his back. It's her strength. It's her trying to understand him. It's her giving him a chance in a way she only can. It's how she sees _all_ of him. Who he was, who he is. And how she is still here, with him. It's Charlie. Charlotte. It's her. And he knows, he is not going to leave her. Not now. Not after everything.

Her bedroom fills with a new sunrise. With them sitting without saying a word on her bed, her body curled against him, sitting behind him. The scent of his skin so close to her lips. With the warmth of his skin radiating towards her. With the feeling of his scruff against her cheek and temple. With the scent, _his scent_ , a scent she knows so well, the scent of the man that has been a steady force in her life for so long now, so close to her she can almost not breathe.

But then, her next heartbeat fills with more than loss and desperation and scars. And her next breath and heartbeat are slowly being filled with a new fragile but honest and real connection. Because when she slowly moves his hand from his muscled strong arm to his chest, the warmth of the skin of her hand against his wide chest, he wraps his tall hand around hers. Pressing it close to his chest. Her hand fully covered by his.

Giving her the only answer he has to give. And she knows, he is going to stay.

 _The End_

 _( and the start of the possibility of so much more...)_

* * *

 **Author's Note** **: This is a story about the road to a connection between the both of them. A connection that is there, between Bass and Charlie, on an early morning with the both of them on her bed when sunrise is slowly filling her bedroom. The end of this story is the start of their connection. Dear wonderful Lemon, I hope you enjoyed this story. I want to thank** _ **all**_ **of you. For reading, for your feedback and for your support. For helping me to learn more about English and develop my writing skills. For your follows and reviews. You, and your kindness, mean the world to me. Thank you all for being there. With love and gratitude for all of you, Love from Love**


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